


i cherish with fondness the day (before) i met you

by CallicoKitten



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Drunkenness, Gen, Past Child Abuse, Post-Movie(s), TLJ Spoilers, [spoiler] he doesn't catch one, hux needs a break, its cool guys he's a space nazi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 07:08:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13118646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallicoKitten/pseuds/CallicoKitten
Summary: He is too lost in his thoughts to notice the man approaching.“I am certain I know of a few people who would pay a pretty penny for that face.”-hux gets tired of ren throwing him into walls and leaves in an attempt to destabilise ren's new order. it goes about as well as can be expected.





	i cherish with fondness the day (before) i met you

**Author's Note:**

> i havent been able to shake this fic idea since i saw the film. it doesn't really go anywhere but i wanted to write it anyway. it turned out way less cracky than i thought it would

Hux has had this plan in place for years.

Snoke knew of it, of course. Hux was never arrogant – or _stupid_ – enough to assume he could hide such a contingency from the Supreme Leader, Ren however, does not. While Snoke looked at him and saw ambition, opportunities, capability, Ren has only ever seen him as a pawn. A weak-willed puppet to be bent and shaped and moulded by his rulers.

Ren has never looked at him and seen a General. _The_ General. The man who commands the bulk of the First Order’s forces, the man who has led them to victory time and time again, the man who has earnt their loyalty.

And that is precisely why Ren is doomed to fail.

\---

 _If you do this,_ he imagines Phasma saying. _You will be ruined. Our cause will be lost. Everything we have worked for will have been for nought._

This is not a decision he has come to lightly. He is well aware that there are very few scenarios in which this ends well for him. He is well aware that is throwing away his entire life all because the galaxy saw fit to gift a spoilt brat of a man with the greatest power it is possible to wield.

He can imagine himself steeling his mind, setting his jaw. _We have no other option. With Ren at the helm our cause is lost already. This way there is at least a chance we can regroup._

She would be enraged. Call him a coward. She might even have struck him down if Ren had been sufficiently wearing that day but none of that matters now, Phasma is gone. Dead. Ashes drifting in space with the rest of their dreadnought. If she were here, he would not have to do this. He would not have to leave. Together they could have orchestrated Ren’s demise, he is certain of it. Without her, there is no one he trusts enough to put a plan in motion and see it through.

It has been two months since the Supreme Leaders supposed demise at the hands of a nowhere girl from nothing. A girl who also apparently took out an entire Praetorian Guard in addition to Snoke but somehow spared Lord Ren. The only reason Hux hasn’t put this plan into motion before now is that it is rather difficult to stage a successful escape when your bones are knitting together.

Ren has almost killed him several times over the past few weeks. Yet another reason Hux is leaving instead of staging a coup. He may have the loyalty of his men but he is not an idiot. Ren could snap his neck easily. Could snap any of their necks with barely a twitch of his finger. This is the Order. His men will be loyal up to a point but none of them will lay their lives down for him. For the Cause? Yes. To stage a mutiny? No.

Regardless, he has left them orders. Means by which to contact him. Rendezvous details should they wish to rebuild. Whether they follow them or not, Hux is certain Ren’s empire will begin to crumble and the chaos he is bringing to the galaxy will come to an end.

He cannot help but sneer at the thought of Snoke witnessing this, of his father. He thinks he can hear Snoke’s laughter distantly, in the recess of his mind. Perhaps Snoke would be smug, his assertion of Hux’s cowardice finally confirmed. Perhaps he would be thrilled to watch Ren’s empire burn.

He guides the shuttle in to land on a small planet on the outer rim. The area is notorious for scavengers, in a few days the ship will be stripped of anything and everything that can easily be traced back to him. He has another waiting, safe. He leaves the strappings of his Order uniform in the sand and doesn’t turn to look back until he is certain they have been swallowed up by the horizon.

\---

It is two weeks before he is recognised. In all honesty, he is faintly surprised it had not come sooner. He has not made great efforts to disguise his appearance, has stopped slicking back his hair, has taken to wearing threadbare clothes, caked with mud and dust from the little planets he bounces between. His boots are scuffed, his palms worried raw but hidden under heavy woollen gloves.

He is still pale and gaunt, still sleeps far too little, spending every moment he has combing frequencies for news of the Order. There has been little but for a small flurry of activity following his escape, a few scant rumours of desertions, executions. Either Ren has installed a replacement that is willing to stand his ground against Ren’s more outlandish requests or he has found a very efficient method of preventing news of his failings getting out.

Hux has not felt so powerless, so uncertain since his childhood but there is little he can do from the small dive bar he has found himself in.

Little he can do from anywhere now.

He covers his face. Kneads at his temples. He was stupid to think that this would work. Stupid. Stupid. _Stupid._

He is too lost in his thoughts to notice the man approaching.

“I am certain I know of a few people who would pay a pretty penny for that face.”

 A stab of annoyance silences the turmoil in Hux’s mind for a moment before he realises the voice is faintly familiar. He uncovers his face to find a man standing over him, drink in hand. The man smirks, “ _General._ ”

It takes Hux a moment to place him, to comb through his memories of officers’ past and present, of known Resistance members and contacts before – It is the small stammer at the end of the man’s words that gives him away.

“Ah. The _Codebreaker_.”

The man grins.

It surprises Hux that he feels so little fear. This has always felt a little like an inevitability. Of course, he had always assumed it would either be the Order or the Resistance that found him. This man had no allegiance to either side. Perhaps there is a chance.

“May I sit?” the man asks.

Hux suspects his answer will not matter either way so he shrugs, sweeping his gaze over the man, assessing. He holds himself loosely, his movements have a certain lack of co-ordination to them but his fingers are quick and deft, judging by his past endeavours, enough that the unsteadiness in his gait, in his movements is probably carefully choreographed. He pulls out the chair opposite Hux and dumps himself into it, long limbs everywhere.

“You know,” he says. “There have been rumours of your death, General. Depending on who is telling the story you either died a hero defending your ship from a Resistance attack or you were executed as a traitor for attempting overthrow the new Supreme Leader. Either way I find myself surprised to see you here, of all places, General. _Desertion_ is not something I would have thought you capable of.”

For a moment, Hux sees red. He is _not_ a deserter. Ren’s First Order is not the Order he pledged himself to. “And _what_ would you know about it?” He snaps. “You’re just a common thief. A conman. You know nothing of me and nothing of the Order.”

The man clucks his tongue. “A common thief?” He repeats. “I’m _wounded_ , General. Surely even you can admit I’m a little more than that.”

Hux clenches his jaw. “Who sent you?” he demands.

At that the man chuckles. More a breathy snort. “Perhaps now you are _over_ estimating me.”

“So I’m to believe this is a complete coincidence?”

The man spreads his hands, “Perhaps. Perhaps not. That is not what you should be concerning yourself with. What you should be concerning yourself with is who I’m going to sell you to.”

Hux swallows, leaning backwards in his chair. The man doesn’t look particularly strong, there’s a chance Hux could best him in a fight but there’s also no telling what manner of weapons the man keeps about his person. Besides, all the man would need to do is announce his identity to the room and Hux would be outnumbered. There is a chance he could escape, slip out unnoticed in the confusion and back to his ship but it is slip and even then, it would not be difficult to trace him.

No. His best bet is to attempt to reason with the man or talk him into leaving, perhaps, into stepping outside where there are fewer prying eyes. Hux has several weapons on him. A blaster, two knifes. A vial of neurotoxin. Perhaps he could slip that into the man’s drink.

“I think,” Hux says slowly. “That perhaps you are _over_ estimating my value.”

The man smiles, leaning forward to raise his glass off the table. He takes a sip. “How so, General?”

Hux takes a breath. “Well, for starters I’m assuming you think two of the most viable buyers are the First Order and the Resistance. The Resistance may have escaped with their lives but that is all they escaped with. I’d imagine they’ve hardly got the resources to keep themselves going, let alone pay you a fair fare. As I recall you drive quite a hard bargain.”

The man hums, sounding pleased with himself.

“And even if they did, they are presumably aware of the fact that as much as I loathe Ren, I will not turn traitor. As for the Order. You won’t get anything out of Supreme Leader Ren. If he’s feeling particularly generous he might kill you quickly.”

The man mock shudders. “Terrifying.”

Hux raises an eyebrow but continues anyway. “And even if you could find some third party it would be very difficult to get the message out without alerting the Order. If there is any competency at all in Ren he will have people searching for me.”

The man smirks. “As difficult as slipping aboard your dreadnought unnoticed and tampering with your systems?”

Hux exhales.

The man lounges back in his chair. “An admirable piece, General but it seems that you are suggesting I simply let you leave.”

Hux does not respond, only shifts slightly in his chair. _Of course, you moron. Did you expect anything less?_ But of course the man expected this. He probably knew precisely the arguments Hux would make, what order he would make them in. He is simply handing Hux a length of rope and asking him to hang himself with it.

“You know,” the man remarks, while Hux mulls this over. “For a man facing certain death or torture you do not seem very afraid.”

 _No_ , Hux thinks. No. He never has been, really. Growing up in the Order, death has never felt very far, very unfamiliar. He tilts his head, “Did you expect me to beg?”

The man smiles at that, slow and steady. He leans forwards, scoots his chair closer. With one hand, he fidgets with his glass, running his index finger around the rim almost playfully. “No. On that account, General, you have lived up to my expectations. Congratulations.”

He looks down at his drink briefly.

“Perhaps we can come to an arrangement,” he says. He looks up, his eyes very blue against the dark bags under his eyes. Bags to rival Hux’s own. “Spend the evening with me.”

“ _Excuse me_?” Hux splutters. Of all the possibilities in the galaxy, _that_ is one he had never considered.

The man tips his head back and laughs, an alarming sound, harsh and rough. When he looks back at Hux, his eyes glimmer with amusement. “I did not mean it like _that_. Although,” he sweeps his gaze across Hux, appraising. “If you are _offering_ – ”

“Certainly not,” Hux snaps, his cheeks colouring and the man snickers again.

“Relax, General. I was only teasing. So,” he prompts. “What do you say?”

Hux stills for a moment, waiting for his thoughts to catch up. He looks again at the man, searching his impassive face for any hint of his true end goal. “Why?” He asks. Plainly, simply.

The man tilts his head, still smiling, self-assured. “Perhaps I am bored. Perhaps you are interesting. Perhaps I am simply stalling so whomever I have promised your pretty face to has time to arrive. Perhaps I just want to watch you squirm. What does it matter? It is not as though you have a choice.”

Hux lets out a shuddering breath. He is right, of course so Hux, haltingly, nods.

The man beams. He leans back in his chair and turns towards the bar, beckoning for more drinks.

\---

“You can call me DJ,” the man’s breath is hot against Hux’s ear. In the damp heat of the bar, in the dim light, he has become a creature of mostly shadow – or perhaps that is the alcohol muddling his senses. It takes him a moment to remember he is supposed to shudder with revulsion.

“If you are trying to get me drunk enough to – ” His tongue feels slow in his mouth, heavy. He has never been much of drinker before now. “If you are trying to pry secrets out of me – ”

The man leans away, laughing softly. “You know, it would not hurt to be a touch more imaginative with your assertions, General.”

“I’m not – ” Hux half says, unsure if he’s going to finish with _unimaginative_ or _a General._ His chest feels tight. It’s true, it’s true. He is no longer a General. He no longer commands an army, no longer commands respect. Ren has taken that from him. Taken it all.

 _No._ The voice comes, clear and ringing from the back of his mind. A voice that used to make him flinch and curl in on himself.

 _You did this. You chose to leave. You chose to run. A coward,_ his father says. _I always knew as much. Told them as much._

Hux closes his eyes, shakes his head. He does not dream of Ren or Snoke throwing him bodily against the walls of his own ship, of bones splintering and cracking at their whim, of his vision going dark as they squeeze the breath out of him, but he dreams often of Brendol Hux. Of his leather belt, of his sharp tongue.

“General,” DJ sing-songs. “Wake up. You’re getting boring. You don’t want me getting _bored_ , do you?”

Hux forces his eyes open, his vision swims. There is a bitter taste in his mouth despite the sweetness of whatever drinks DJ is feeding him.

However this plays out, it is the end for him. He can only hope DJ chooses to do away with Hux himself.

DJ smiles at him, goes on talking the First Order’s security systems, about their locks, their ships, their methods. Hux struggles to keep up with his words, always a sentence or two behind. “You know an awful lot about our systems,” he says, after a few moments. “Were you one of ours?”

DJ rolls his eyes. “You do not listen very well, do you? I could tell you just as much about the Resistance’s ships and systems. About the New Republic’s. I am nothing from nowhere.”

 _As am I,_ Hux thinks fleetingly. “And you expect me to believe that,” he says, flatly.

DJ grins.

\---

By the time DJ declares the evening over, Hux’s head is spinning, his legs are jelly, his feet refuse to obey. _This is what you wanted,_ he thinks, panicked, as DJ lifts him from his chair, pauses to take the bulk of Hux’s weight. _This is what you planned._

He should fight but his limbs are too heavy to move. The lights of the bar, of the town outside are bright, far too bright. Hux presses his face against DJ’s neck even as he rages against him.

 _You fucker,_ he thinks. _You snake. You vile, disgusting gutter-rat._

He is walked to a ship. Not his ship. Not the ship he gave DJ in return for the saboteurs. DJ lowers him down onto a soft mattress, pauses a moment to lay a hand on his forehead. Hux struggles uselessly.

“Easy, General, easy,” DJ says, his voice faux-gentle. His fingers brush through Hux’s hair. “I will not do anything to do that you do not want.”

“Let me go then,” Hux says and his voice sounds childish even to his own ears.

DJ smiles. “Perhaps not that.”

And then he is gone and Hux is drifting.

Drifting.

Drifting.

Gone.

\---

When he wakes, he finds that he is still aboard the ship. He has not been handcuffed, not been restrained at all it seems. He lies still for a moment, against the unfamiliar sheets and stares up at the ceiling of the ship. He is still in his own clothes though he knows from the weight of it that knives and blaster are gone, the vial too.

He sits up, stands. Wanders out to the cockpit.

DJ does not turn around. “You’re awake.”

Hux stands in the doorway. “You didn’t even cuff me,” he says. “Was that wise?”

DJ turns to grin at him. “From our conversations last night I thought you seemed a reasonable man.”

“You took my weapons,” Hux points out, crossing the room to sit in the co-pilot’s chair.

DJ smirks. “Well, one must always have a contingency plan.” He pulls the neurotoxin from his coat pocket. “And _this_ will certainly be useful at some point.”

“You’re deranged,” Hux says.

“Hey, man, it’s your poison,” DJ says, evenly. He looks back to the windscreen of the ship. They’re in hyper-space.

“Where are you taking me?” Hux asks after a moment.

“The Resistance,” DJ says. There is no hint of regret in his words. No hint of glee either.

Hux cannot contain his fury. He curls his hand into a fist, slams it against the dash. At least he isn’t being taken back to the Order. At least he won’t have to suffer execution at Ren’s hands.

DJ looks at him. “I made the wrong call on your ship,” he says frankly. “And I’m honestly not invested enough in this to find someone who will pay me better.”

Hux stands, determined to stop this. To yank the steering from DJ’s control, to do something to get away. Anything.

“The ship can only be operated by me,” DJ tells him in a bored tone. “It is coded specially. And there are no weapons aboard that you can access. Fight me if you want though. We have a long journey ahead of us and I could do with some amusement.”

There is no hint of a lie in his tone but still, Hux does not heed him. He storms from the cockpit, searches every inch of the ship.

He finds nothing. Returns to the co-pilots seat feeling empty and angry and helpless. DJ clucks his tongue. “I told you,” he says. “We’re almost there.”

\---

The planet they land on is bright and green. There is a humming in the air. Hux has heard of places like this. Planets naturally shrouded from radar and radio because of an odd quirk of their make up, a background hum that distorts, that shields.

DJ smirks as he nudges Hux down the gangway. “No hard feelings, General. It’s just the way the cards fell this time.”

Hux turns to him, wants to snipe at him. Say something clever and caustic but no words come.

The clank of metal gives way to the soft crunch of earth.

“General Hugs,” a painfully familiar voice greets. “Is that really you? Gods, you really _are_ pasty, aren’t you? Scrawny, too. Hard to imagine anyone obeying you.”

Poe Dameron grins at him, cuffs dangling from one crooked finger. FN-2187 is beside him, blaster in hand. To Hux’s surprise it’s pointed not a him but at DJ. “You can go now,” FN-2187 says.

Hux glances back.

DJ has his hands raised, spread, palms open. He bows over-dramatically at FN-2187’s words. “Pleasure doing business with you again.” He winks at Hux and turns back to his ship.

“I hope these fit,” Dameron says, waving the cuffs.

Hux closes his eyes.


End file.
